


Curiosity: The Eighth Deadly Sin

by marguerite_26



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Embarrassment, Frottage, Knotting, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles stumbles on some information about wolf mating, he’s curious how many <i>attributes</i> werewolves share with real wolves. Unfortunately, Stiles knows from experience his curiosity is a very dangerous thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity: The Eighth Deadly Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eleadore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Любопытство - восьмой смертный грех.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541705) by [ejovvika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejovvika/pseuds/ejovvika)



> Thank you to [](http://faithwood.livejournal.com/profile)[**faithwood**](http://faithwood.livejournal.com/) and [](http://melusinahp.livejournal.com/profile)[**melusinahp**](http://melusinahp.livejournal.com/) for the beta reads. Written for [Kinkspiration: Round 6](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/703986.html)

When Stiles was seven, he wanted to know what was in all those papers on his father’s desk. When Stiles had asked what he was working on, his father replied, “Just a _domestic dispute_.” But he’d flipped the folder shut the instant Stiles had stepped closer. Later, when Stiles had snuck into his father’s study and turned on the flashlight beneath the desk, he’d thought to himself what a pathetic name it was -- _domestic dispute_ \-- for something so wretched. His father had never found out what he’d seen that night, or how he’d gone to bed shaking, his head swimming with images of Mrs. Lahey’s broken jaw, the cigarette burns up her arm and the finger marks around her neck. He’d had nightmares for months.

When Stiles was ten, he’d wanted to see his first crime scene. He hadn’t expected so much blood, and hiding behind a bush became less stealthy when you were up-chucking your bedtime snack. He hadn’t been able to eat Doritos without gagging since that night.

His father had looked at him with disappointment, understanding and tightly restrained fury. He’d pulled Stiles from the sight of the shooting by the scruff of his neck and didn’t say a word the entire drive home. Only once Stiles was back in his room (where it looked like he’d be spending the next eternity) had his father looked him in the eye.

“Curiosity can be a good thing, Stiles. And sometimes it can get you into a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Stiles knew which category that night’s adventures fell into.

“I hope you learned a lesson tonight,” his dad said, his head shaking like he knew better than to believe it.

Stiles often wondered whether he would've turned out differently if his mom had still been alive. If she would have gone into his room that night after his father had left and said something more. If she would have sat on his bed, stroked his hair and whispered soft words about loving him and needing him to be _careful_. With his life, his innocence, whatever... just more _careful_.

He wondered if those words could have gotten through to him somehow and changed his life.

He’d never know.

Because she hadn’t been there and Stiles’ curiosity burned and grew inside him like a beast. There was no end to the sheer amount of information he wanted shoved inside his brain. Like the six hours he spent one night researching circumcision instead of studying for economics. Like the night he convinced Scott to go into the woods looking for a dead body.

Like tonight when he decided to google _wolf sex_ , followed the link on _bulbus glandis_ and began to have many, many thoughts on that topic.

So Stiles’ brain became a curse, not for the first time in his life, and wolf cocks became all he could think about. Which naturally led to werewolf cock thoughts and the possibility that maybe, _maybe_ knots were inherited just like claws and fangs. Stiles didn’t get much sleep that night, which was par for the course when his brain sort of _hiccupped_ on a given idea and suddenly spiraled the minute he closed his eyes.

What would it feel like to have _that_ on his dick? He imagined it while his hand wrapped around the base as he jerked off. He squeezed the phantom knot and thought about how it would be even better _inside_. With that, his fucked up mind went right to Scott and Allison. He blamed the youtube video he’d found of wolves in the Arctic. The camera caught a wolf, who wasn’t from the pack, mating with the alpha’s daughter. Naturally, the alpha discovered them while they were still tied and the loner wolf couldn’t escape. Stiles clicked away pretty fast after that.

He shook that horrifying image from his brain and tried not to think of how the human equivalent would pan out in the Argents’ house. He wasn’t turned off enough to stop his wank, though. That bit went along just fine -- no surprise, given he’d been hard since the first image had popped up on screen.

He came that night to random (should be disturbing, but weren’t) flashbacks of what he’d read.

He woke the next morning hard again and had another quick pull during his shower. He only felt mildly guilty that he still had wolf sex on his brain while he painted the tiles in sticky white strips.

~o~

During study period, the library was almost empty and Stiles found himself in the unusual position of being alone with Allison. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the wolf sex thing and all the questions boiling up inside of him. Obviously she wasn’t his first choice for answers, but she was _there_ and Scott wasn’t.

For some reason that was enough for Stiles to open his mouth and blurt out, “So, Allison, when you and Scott --”

She turned from the book she was reading and looked him in the eye. Stiles stopped, sanity slapping him across the face until his cheeks grew hot. His mouth hung open (he could feel himself frozen there, gaping) and Allison’s brow wrinkled as the moment drew out into awkwardness.

“When you and Scott... go out for pizza, does he pay?”

She blinked, as though _that_ question was weird and in comparison... well, there was no comparison, really. Allison answered something and Stiles nodded, couldn’t even pretend to listen. He ignored her odd looks because at least he hadn’t asked if Scott locked his dick inside her when they had sex. Small mercies were what made Stiles’ life liveable.

Stiles went through the rest of the day mostly not thinking about it. He couldn’t quite meet Allison in the eyes anymore, but if anyone noticed they didn’t say anything.

He should forget about it; Stiles was smart enough to know he was being ridiculous. This knowledge wouldn’t save his life, or anyone else’s life and frankly if he found out it was true, his curiosity would only rise to dangerous levels and there would be no way he could stop himself from asking a litany of inappropriate questions the next time he was faced with any of Derek’s pack. The chances of it being true though -- that a bite from a werewolf changed your _dick_ \-- were too far-fetched. Maybe that was why he kept at this, because it really couldn’t be true. Scott would have told him, right? He should just ask, but he couldn’t because anytime he pictured asking Scott, he imagined Scott knowing he’d almost asked _Allison_. And their friendship meant more to him than to risk that.

Fortunately, there was Isaac; unfortunately, talking to Isaac only made it worse.

After a few leading questions which got him nowhere, Stiles finally told Isaac he was starting to write his own Bestiary (Stiles had no idea how these things even popped into his head, they just did). Isaac was a bit more helpful after that.

“Our faces change and we get claws, you know the stuff you see: ears, teeth, sideburns. My feet get really hairy. I don’t think bitten werewolves change outside of that.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded, pleased with the results the Bestiary lie was getting him (some great lies just fizzled into nothingness, but this one grew in his head like it might be worth making it true). It was good to get an answer. And it was exactly the one he expected, Stiles told himself. He could tuck his curiosity away again and ignore the mildly unsatisfied twang in his gut. “So, bitten wolves have just face and claws. Nothing _else_?”

“Nothing I can think of...” Isaac paused for a moment then went on (though it may have been better for Stiles’ sanity if he’d stopped). “Born werewolves are different, of course. Scott said Peter was like full-body werewolf when he was an alpha.” Isaac looked off into the distance, wistful expression on his face.

“Yeah.” Stiles cleared his throat, not feeling at all wistful about Peter, since last time he saw him in full-body werewolf form he was being barbequed. The smell had clung to Stiles’ skin for days. “That was not as cool as is sounds.”

Isaac blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. “Yeah. I guess not. But the idea’s cool though.”

“Really not.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “So, my book.” He was totally going to write one now. “Anything else to add for posterity? Any other quirky wolfy things?”

“Oh--” Isaac blushed then, so it had to be something good. “Not really my place to, uh...”

Uncrossing his arms, Stiles slid a little closer, his earlier annoyance completely forgotten. “Yeah, buddy? There's something else?”

“No. I can’t say. You could ask Derek if --” Isaac looked away with a nervous laugh. “Never mind, probably not.”

Stiles tried to look like he wasn’t ready to shake the info from Isaac. “Yeah, asking Derek, not going to happen.” He rocked back and forth on his heels to release a bit of his pent-up energy. “Maybe you could give me a hint? For, you know, _science_. Research purposes. Just general anatomy stuff?”

Isaac shook his head. “Sorry, mate. Even if he wasn’t my alpha, guys don't talk about other guys’ jun-- er -- anatomy.”

Stiles blinked, staring at Isaac while his brain devoured this new information and shut off all other areas of coherent thought or speech.

Eventually Isaac said, “Right then,” turned on his heel and walked away, no doubt thinking Stiles was certifiable.

~o~

 

That night he dreamed of Derek.

He watched the arc of his tattooed back as Derek thrust between spread thighs, pressing into a tight hole and locking himself there. He dreamed of Derek’s face as he was squeezed tight in the most intimate of ways, his mouth open and panting, and eyes falling shut from the intensity.

Stiles came all over his sheets about thirty seconds after waking. It wasn’t his finest moment. Too tired and mortified to turn the lights on and face what he’d done, he said fuck it and rolled over with the hope of getting a few hours of dreamless sleep and a vague promise to himself of laundry after school the next day.

Unfortunately, any laundry plans were delayed when he got home from school to discover Derek already in his room. Playing it cool, Stiles ignored him and dropped his bookbag on the floor by his desk. He did a double take when he saw his computer on; he was sure it hadn’t been when he’d left that morning.

“Isaac mentioned you’re writing a bestiary,” Derek said, like that was justification for such a gross invasion of privacy. Stiles hadn’t cleared his browsing history for ages and there may have been tabs still open that... _oh God_.

“So?” Stiles squared his shoulders, fully willing to defend his lie. Bestiary, that was his story and he was sticking to it. After all there was a strong possibility of it becoming true, which made it so much easier to defend.

Derek shook his head, his eyebrows tilted like Stiles was some frustrating child, needing to be taught the obvious. “Those things are dangerous.”

“How about not knowing about all the evil beasties potentially lurking out there? That’s what’s dangerous.” Stiles stepped forward to emphasize his conviction. Then he added, “Knowing is half the battle.”

Derek stared him down. He probably knew where the quote was from too and Stiles cursed that his best quotes came from Saturday morning cartoons.

“Knowledge is power?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. That one had to be better.

“And knowledge about werewolves in the wrong hands is deadly. To us.” Derek stepped closer so he was right up in Stiles’ face, his frustration flipping to anger in a heartbeat.

Stiles huffed, stepping back because defending a _lie_ was starting to wear on him. Lies were meant to get him out of trouble, not cause more. He got into enough trouble with the truth, thanks.

“Look, I’m not...” Stiles flailed his hands a bit, hoping it fell somewhere between ‘I made the whole thing up’ and ‘I’d be careful with it if I were to write up all your secrets.’

It failed spectacularly because suddenly Derek slammed him against a wall.

“I’m not about to share top secret information about you with your enemies,” Stiles squeaked, struggling to meet Derek’s eyes which were too close and frankly pretty damn intimidating. He kept his voice steady, reassured that the bestiary _didn’t even exist_. “Why would I do that? God, why would you think that?”

 

“I don’t know what to think,” Derek whispered, low and dangerous. His eyes flickered over to the computer monitor, then back at Stiles. His grip on Stiles’ collar tightened. “There are times when we are vulnerable. Hunters use anything, _anything_ to get the upper hand.”

Stiles blinked, understanding the connection there. “Even sex.”

“Especially sex.” Derek looked embarrassed, lips pursed but eyes momentarily downcast.

There was something there. Stiles didn’t even want to know. But Stiles had a feeling it was one of the many reasons Derek was a fucked up violent mess of issues. And it made Stiles blurt out, “I’m not writing a bestiary.”

Derek gave him a blank look that Stiles recognized from the thousand or so times he lied to his dad and wasn’t believed.

“I swear. I’m not.” Stiles groaned, hating that he lied so often people didn’t believe him when he _told them he was lying._ “I was never writing a bestiary. I was just...” His mind flashed back to his father finding him at the scene of the shooting when he was ten, how Stiles’ throat stung from bile and Doritos while he’d admitted he’d wanted to see what a dead body looked like in real life, and not just on his dad’s file photos. “I was just curious.”

Derek waited him out, his breath on Stiles’ cheek like an impatient reminder of impending violence should this conversation not go well.

“God, it’s stupid.” Truer words were never spoken, Stiles thought, and just let the mess spill out his mouth. “A couple nights ago I read about wolves mating.” He turned his face. Baring his neck was easier than holding Derek’s gaze while he confessed. “I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I get like that sometimes. Crazy to know everything.”

“Even when it’s none of your business,” Derek said, flat.

“Especially when it’s none of my business.”

Derek snorted. He believed some of it at least because he let Stiles’ collar go, but didn’t step away.

“So you asked a newly turned beta,” Derek said, “not realizing he was going to go straight to me.”

Stiles shrugged. Derek thinking he was an idiot he could handle. Safe, well-trodden territory. “He wasn’t my worst choice, actually.”

Derek looked like he wanted to ask, but Stiles was grateful he didn’t. “Is that why your sheets smell like a whorehouse? Curiosity?”

Stiles’ head snapped up to catch the faint glimmer of a smirk on Derek’s lips. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times and that evil smirk curled a little more. “Ugh. Fuck off with your wolf nose and your wolf... dick, all right.”

Stiles squirmed to get away, but Derek’s hands were now somehow on his hips, holding him in place. A low rumbling chuckle came from Derek the more Stiles fought.

“Not cool, dude. Invasion of privacy.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s wrists, but his grip was like iron. His face only got hotter. Derek’s huff of laughter was doing all the wrong things to Stiles. “This is like kink shaming or something. Jesus.” Was being mocked a kink too? Just like being fascinated by wolf-dick? Because he really didn’t want to know what it said about him that he was getting hard from this.

The worst part was that Derek still wouldn’t step away. And every time Derek’s nostrils flared Stiles knew exactly what Derek was smelling.

“You are such a fucker.” Stiles struggled again, frantic and no less turned on. “You probably have a knotless, pencil-dick and are just getting off on pretending...”

Stiles gasped, speechless as Derek pulled him flush, their groins pressing together and Derek’s leg slipping between Stiles’ thighs.

“Is that what you really think, Stiles?” Derek whispered, and held them together because he could and because the rather thick outline of Derek’s cock was actually poking Stiles’ hip.

Stiles still couldn’t move, really. His hands were still on Derek’s wrist but he’d forgotten to keep trying to push him away. The room spun. It was possible he needed oxygen so he tried breathing again. Derek just watched him, a ghost of a smile on his face, a wicked one. And for the first time Stiles saw the family resemblance between Derek and Peter. Evil. They were both evil. Derek proved it in the next second when he rubbed his thigh against the underside of Stiles’ balls.

Stiles’ eyes fell closed, his cock pressed eagerly against his zip, not knowing it was just being teased. A whine slipped out when Derek did it again.

“You really want to know, don’t you?” Derek said, leaning in so the words tickled Stiles’ ear.

Derek leaned back, taking his hands off Stiles’ hips. He should run now. He should. Only Derek was popping the button of his own jeans and Stiles was frozen, staring as Derek’s fingers lower his zip to reveal grey boxers. The material looked worn, thread-bare and soft as it clung to the jut of Derek’s covered cock.

Stiles wasn’t quite sure if a panic attack or an orgasm was going to hit him first. They had never happened simultaneously but today it seemed likely.

“Are you that desperate to know what a werewolf-dick is like?”

He grabbed Stiles’ hand and held it so Stiles’ knuckles brushed the soft fabric. Derek held him there, not quite touching, until, panting like he needed Scott’s inhaler, Stiles said, “Yes.”

Derek pressed Stiles’ hand closer in invitation, and Stiles’ fingers instinctively wrapped around the shaft through the boxers. It felt thick and huge, filling his hand with the length of it.

“Lower,” Derek breathed.

And _there_ , just at the v of the open zipper, the tip of Stiles’ fingers grazed something foreign and hard. A fat ring at the base. His breath caught.

“Anything else you needed to know?” Derek asked, voice cracking. Stiles tore his eyes from Derek’s crotch to look at his face. He looked a bit wrecked, actually. His eyes over wide, sweat beading his upper lip. Stiles blinked, fire stirring his belly at the sight. _Vulnerable_ , isn’t that what Derek said earlier? Yes, the word fit perfectly. It occurred to him belatedly that Derek was hard. Hard, from talking to Stiles about cock.

Derek’s hands shook as they gripped Stiles’ hips again like they would be safe there. Only there, not allowed to wander. Courage, and a bit of cockiness welled up in Stiles’ chest, knowing _he_ was pushing Derek’s limits of control. Stiles’ finger dipped into Derek’s jeans, his palm cupping the knot and Derek gasped against Stiles’ cheek. The hot, wet breath sent Stiles rocking shamelessly against Derek’s thigh.

Feeling Derek’s legs spreading at his touch, Stiles squeezed. His brain could barely process any of this: his hand on the hard outline of Derek’s cock, the smooth slide as he rubbed up and down the shaft. He wrapped his fingers as best he could around the knot until Derek whined, dog-like at the touch and thrust into his palm for more.

God, his dad would be home soon. It was his night off and Stiles was expected to make dinner. He’d have to lie and say he’d forgot. Face the look of disappointment, again. But nothing, _fucking nothing_ was going to make him call this off.

Their position was perfect for Stiles to roll his hips, too perfect to resist riding Derek’s muscled thigh. He closed his eyes and focused on the dick he held in his hand, wishing he was feeling Derek's skin, wishing he could see the knot, wishing he could know what it was like to squeeze around it _properly_. His grip tightened and Derek growled, teeth grazing Stiles’ shoulder.

It was enough to turn Stiles’ rutting wild, helpless. All too soon the pressure built too high, and before he could stop and push away, he was coming in his own pants.

Derek’s fingers curled at his hips as Stiles rode out the orgasm. When he finally flopped bonelessly against Derek’s chest, the pinch of Derek’s tight grip shook him out of his daze, refocused him, reminded him what he’d just done and the fact that his hand was still palming Derek through his boxers.

He debated for moment what he should do about that, but the decision was taken from him as Derek stepped away. Flustered, like he was wondering how and why he’d got to this point, Derek adjusted himself and zipped up.

Stiles winced in sympathy. Luckily, the offer to help him with that drowned in Stiles’ mortification and tacky underwear.

A moment later, Derek was across the room, one foot already out the window. He paused and looked at Stiles, and sighed. Voice thick, he said, “You should watch that curiosity, Stiles. It’ll get you in trouble someday.”

Stiles watched him disappear out the window before collapsing to the floor. Head in his hands, he groaned and muttered, “Welcome to my life.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment on [the LJ post](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/704407.html) if you prefer.


End file.
